


Shattered

by kurokonekokilled



Category: Bleach
Genre: Aizen is an outlaw and Ichi is as always a savior, Angst, Bad Eating Habits, Depression, Developing Relationships, Forgiveness, Gen, Hogyouku as a magical fix it all, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, PTSD, Past Suicide Attempts, potential anorexia trigger, suicidal behavior but nothing on screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurokonekokilled/pseuds/kurokonekokilled
Summary: Anime Canon Divergent. Aizen Sousuke is placed in the protective care of one Kurosaki Ichigo after the truth behind his betrayal - and who really caused it - comes to light. Ichigo is broken and battered from the war, from the burden of saving the world at fifteen, and at sixteen, and at seventeen. Now, he's nineteen, taking care of an amnesiac, reiatsu-null former enemy while desperately trying to keep himself afloat.
Relationships: Aizen Sousuke & Kurosaki Ichigo, Aizen Soususke/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 27
Kudos: 150





	1. Surreal

Things had passed surreal a  _ long  _ time ago.

Ichigo probably couldn't tell you exactly when - if it was the moment that Aizen threw away the Shinigami, allowing himself to Hollowfy in the name of attaining godhood, if it was the moment the Hogyouku stitched his body back together after Mugetsu, or if it was the bloodcurdling screech he'd released the second his Hollow shell had started to chip, Kyouka Suigetsu vanishing from his hand and shattering into endless minuscule shards between his body and Ichigo’s.

Maybe it had been when Urahara had appeared, the sad visage Ichigo had gotten used to seeing nowadays replaced with one of utter panic as he rushed to a flailing Aizen’s side, muttering Kido and Bakudo interspersed, healing him with one breath and binding him with the next. Or when he'd pulled Benihime on the other captains that had arrived, swords drawn and ready to end Aizen’s life.

Ichigo had been the only one there who had not only never been exposed to Kyouka Suigetsu’s hypnosis, but had also touched the blade before it shattered. He'd been the one who had to convince everyone that neither Aizen writhing in agony nor Urahara protecting him was a mirage.

The trial had been more inane than surreal, even if it was outrageously odd to not only see both Urahara and Kurotsuchi arguing on Aizen’s behalf - well, Urahara on his behalf and Kurotsuchi on behalf of his potential scientific use - but also agreeing on something for once. Ichigo had sat directly behind Aizen for the entire trial, watching the man he'd once thought to be the most dangerous, bloodthirsty creature possible shake and shiver and jump at every noise.

He'd never thought he'd actually be testifying in Aizen’s  _ defense,  _ but he trusted Urahara’s data over pretty much everything, even if he didn't fully trust the man himself. Besides, Kurotsuchi had gotten identical results, and… looking at Aizen, Ichigo couldn't really believe anything else.

The official ruling was that Aizen Sousuke, ex-Taichou of the Fifth, had been put under hypnosis by his own zanpakuto during the near catastrophic rebellion of the zanpakuto led by Muramasa as a ploy to resurrect his master from the grave. It was one of the rare cases wherein a zanpakuto had more ambition that its owner - and when given access to a power reserve and a brilliance like Aizen’s, it was no surprise what Kyouka Suigetsu had managed. Ichigo hadn't been alive during that rebellion, but Rukia and Renji had both told him of how terrifying and difficult it had been to subdue their own zanpakuto. It had strengthened their bonds immensely, though, so they were grateful for it in a way.

Still, even though it had been proven that the bond between Aizen Sousuke and Kyouka Suigetsu had been severed irrevocably - and  _ god,  _ Ichigo couldn't even begin to imagine what that must feel like, to wake up with no memories of the past several centuries only to find yourself branded a traitor and murderer, with your zanpakuto completely gone - Central 46 had made it quite clear that Aizen was untrustable in their eyes. Hearing them say that had left a sour taste in Ichigo's mouth, even if he had nearly been gutted by the man several times over.

They'd decided that he'd need to be placed under control and constant supervision of someone who could stop him, should that prove necessary. Urahara was still branded a traitor even after all had come to light about Aizen’s - well, Kyouka Suigetsu’s - fault in the matter. 

Kurotsuchi would only be able to handle him if he was kept constantly drugged and tortured, broken down to his barest. In his state, Aizen didn't have much left between him and his barest anyway, and likely wouldn't have survived in Kurotsuchi’s hands.

So, of course, Ichigo had been chosen. Well, he'd technically offered. Kind of, at least. He was the only one that could handle Aizen at his full strength, and when Kyouka Suigetsu had shattered, the Hogyouku had abandoned Aizen and attached itself to him, granting him all of his Shinigami powers back. He'd been nearly brought to his knees by the rush of power returning to him after it had so drastically dropped in the moments after Mugetsu had faded. The shock had been even greater when his powers hadn't so much as wavered when Urahara destroyed the thing, once and for all.

Turns out that if its master wanted it to break irreparably, it would. 

But that was how Kurosaki Ichigo wound up back home in a repaired Karakura, Aizen Sousuke knocking at his bedroom door to tell him that breakfast was ready.

Aizen got on surprisingly well with Yuzu, being the only person she allowed to assist her when she was cooking. She even gave him free reign on some days when she was feeling especially lazy, or was too busy with school. 

Today was one of those days, Yuzu up at the crack of dawn and heading to school with a piece of toast between her teeth to get an extra hour in on her sewing project before classes started. Ishida had been helping her with design and material choices, having gone into college for fashion once everything settled down.

He and Orihime had moved in together, the bubbly strawberry blond finally giving up on Ichigo when he told her as gently as he could that he was very, very gay, but still loved her like a sister. She'd taken it surprisingly well, and Ishida had taken that as his sign to make a move. She was attending the same college in the culinary program, her creations drastically improving now that she was using proper ingredients.

Ichigo hadn't gone into college, not sure what he wanted to do with his life, really. He'd planned to be a doctor before he'd been thrown into this mess, and now he'd fought in more wars than he cared to think about, barely eighteen with no direction in life. He just worked as many jobs as he could handle now, filling the time he had off from his two regular part time jobs with temps or fill ins or random favors, anything to keep him moving, to exhaust him so thoroughly that the three hours of sleep he managed a night would be blissfully nightmare free.

Aizen scolded him for it constantly, insisting he at least eat regularly - and eat real food, too - forcing him to keep his room clean and to wash his dishes instead of piling them on his desk. It was outrageously weird to have him practically mothering Ichigo, but he'd at least gotten somewhat used to it after the first month. He didn't jump every time Aizen spoke to him now, so… progress. 

Today was an incredibly rare day off, one of his jobs being shut down for renovations for the week, the other overstaffed with not enough work to go around, and he hadn't been able to find so much as an old grandma who needed her grocery shopping done or her floors cleaned. He had absolutely no idea what to do with himself, but he also knew that Aizen would give him that disapproving, worried look if he didn't eat breakfast.

Well, he'd probably give it to him anyway, fret silently over the probably permanent bags under his eyes, the sallow quality of his skin, the silence that hung around him near tangibly nowadays. It wasn't anything Ichigo could help. He was traumatized from the wars, from the blood and the death and the pain, was in an awkward state of unease now that he  _ didn't  _ have the constant threat of a million enemies at his back at every turn. And having the man who'd brought it all about humming quietly in his kitchen, wearing the pristine white apron Yuzu had hand-stitched his name into with golden thread, well, it didn't exactly make it any easier. 

He stumbled into the dining room blearily, joggers half falling off his hips as he scratched at his bare chest. He'd lost quite a bit of weight since the end of the war, managing to keep his lithe muscles, but no longer having the bulk nor the strength he used to. There was no point if he didn't have someone or something to use them against, right? 

Aizen turned as he entered, sliding a few sausages onto a plate next to an omelet that was getting progressively smaller each time Aizen made it, desperately trying to get him to eat it all since he knew the large portions had been off putting in the beginning when Ichigo was constantly nauseous as he tried to step back into the simplicity of having a normal, human life. There was already a small bowl of rice and a glass of the apple juice that Aizen had somehow found out was his favorite on the table.

“Good morning, Ichigo-kun,” Aizen said softly, sad smile on his face as he placed the plate in front of a too-pale, obviously exhausted Ichigo.

“Good morning, uh, Sousuke-san,” Ichigo offered hesitantly, still not used to the man’s name in his mouth. 

The beaming smile he got in return made him feel a little less uncertain, at least, picking up his chopsticks and taking a tiny bite of his rice as Aizen sat across from him with his own breakfast, having waited for Ichigo to get up so they could eat together. 

Surreal.


	2. Forget All Of It?

Ichigo’s days just kind of… went. They started when he woke up and ended when he stumbled into his room and fell into bed with his clothes still on, and then the next one began.

He worked, and ate the meals that Aizen cooked for him, and slept the now two and a half hours he could manage a night, and he didn't do anything else. 

Renji had come down once since Aizen’s trial, staying for a week and tiptoeing round everything he said, staring at him with worried eyes when he thought Ichigo wasn't looking. He hadn't heard from Rukia at all. Shinji and Hiyori sent him Jigokuchō every few months to make sure he was mostly alive, relaying everyone’s well wishes. 

But really, all Ichigo had left now was Aizen.

Karin was busy with soccer and pretending like she wasn't mooning over Hitsugaya. Yuzu was spending more and more of her time split between practicing her sewing with Uryu and baking this or that over at Urahara’s - definitely not because she wanted to spend time with Jinta, just because their oven was bigger. 

Even Isshin was more absent nowadays. Shinigami powers restored, he wound up reliving the old days with Urahara and Yoruichi, or even taking time and visiting Soul Society on his own.

Ichigo couldn't bring himself to visit.

So… Aizen. Sousuke. Whatever.

He didn't know what he was supposed to call the man at this point. Sure, he ate his cooking at least twice a day, had amicable conversations with him, but he’d also nearly died at the end of Aizen’s sword more times than he wanted to think about.

“Ichigo?”

And then there was that. The complete absence of honorifics, of any seeming space between them in the way Aizen spoke to him.

But Aizen was also the only person who'd talk to him like he was normal now. And yeah, sure, he might have been a bit past the whole ‘fragile mental state’ kinda thing at this point - five months of near apathy was a lot for anyone - it didn't help to constantly be spoken to like he was one wrong word from going off the handle.

“Ichigo?”

“Huh?” Ichigo asked, lifting his head slowly to meet Aizen’s eyes. They were still oddly colored, the whites still streaked with black in some places, purple in others, but it seemed to fade every day. “Sorry. Thinking.”

“Yes,” Aizen sighed, lips turning down into the frown he so often touted around Ichigo. “I was asking if you wanted something in particular for dinner. Karin is at a friend’s house and Yuzu is staying with Uryu-san, and Isshin-san is still in Soul Society, so we will be alone for dinner tonight.”

Ichigo nodded slowly.

“Right.”

Aizen stayed silent for a few moments before sighing and pulling out the chair next to Ichigo, sitting down close enough that his knees knocked into a skinny thigh. Calloused hands pulled Ichigo's fingers into their grasp, waiting patiently until the boy turned to look at him blankly.

“Would you like takoyaki or okonomiyaki?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to order in?”

Ichigo just shrugged, dropping his gaze from Aizen’s face to where their hands were wound together, staring with bored curiosity.

“I'm not hungry, so just make what you want,” he offered listlessly.

His answer was greeted with silence for several long seconds before a hitched breath fell from Aizen’s lips, Ichigo’s eyes snapping back up to see a single tear glistening on the man’s cheek.

“I apologize,” Aizen said tightly, pulling his hands back and sitting straight in his chair. “I believe I'm frustrated.”

“Sorry,” Ichigo apologized on habit.

“No, I simply -” He cut himself off, forced his eyes up to meet Ichigo’s again. “Who am I supposed to be here, Ichigo? You seem to have an intense distaste for me, no matter what I try to do. I've apparently killed people, hurt you and your family, those I called friends. I betrayed Kisuke. I spent centuries with Ichimaru-san, who I don't even know now.” He closed his eyes, swallowing harshly. “I don't understand what my place is intended to be. I need guidance, Ichigo. I don't know who I was, so I don't know who I'm supposed to be now.”

“You were a manipulative, egotistical, maniacal piece of shit,” Ichigo answered boredly. “And now you're a glorified housewife, I guess. Why do I have to tell you what to do? Why do I have to be in charge all the time?” 

He could feel his anger rising for the first time in months, even as he felt guilt prick at him when Aizen shrunk back from him, looking almost scared.

“Your zanpakuto took over and fucked everything up, and now you can't do anything because no one can trust you because we  _ all  _ trusted you when it wasn’t you!” he shouted, pushing up from his chair. “All of this bullshit is your fault! I was a kid! I was fucking fifteen, and I had to fight in so many stupid wars because your zanpakuto crawled up your ass!”

“I'm sorry,” Aizen whispered, shoulders hunched in on himself, looking almost afraid.

“Fuck you!” Ichigo screeched, gripping a fistful of the shirt he'd bought for the man. “You ruined -”

“Am I interrupting something?” a chipper tone cut him off.

Ichigo felt his anger snap for a second, fist clenching in Aizen’s shirt before he managed to calm himself down, push all of his emotions back down and stifle them. And maybe it was the pure heartbreak in Aizen’s eyes, or the way he flinched when he heard Urahara’s voice, then again when he looked at the man, that made it easier to do.

This was all so fucked up.

Aizen was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat softly and standing, head bowed almost meekly.

“I'll go begin dinner and leave you two,” he said quietly, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Urahara stared at Ichigo for several long seconds, waiting for him to say something. If Aizen still treated him like he was mostly normal, Urahara had decided to up his antagonistic patterns by a hundred. 

“What?” Ichigo finally snapped, plopping back down in the chair he'd vacated in his burst of anger.

“That was uncalled for,” he answered, voice still bright and cheerful as he set a box down on the table. “I came to drop off some of the leftovers of our lemon candies. They're your favorite.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Ichigo asked, half exhausted, half exasperated, ignoring everything else. “Forget all of it?”


	3. Forget All Of It

Two quiet raps on the doorframe was all Ichigo bothered with, not really sure if he even wanted Aizen to hear him.

“Sousuke?” he asked, just as softly, ignoring the odd way it settled on his tongue. 

Aizen was seated with his back to the door in the center of the small room they'd given him, calligraphy brush in one hand. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, not pausing in his brush work as Ichigo rounded the small desk and sat down right next to Aizen, close enough their knees brushed together.

“I'm sorry,” he said, not raising his voice at all. “It wasn't you that did any of that. I shouldn't take out my own shit from the war on you.”

“I tried to kill you,” Aizen answered him levelly. “I think you're entitled to hold a grudge, even if it is difficult for me to settle in my head.”

“Kyouka Suigetsu tried to kill me,” Ichigo corrected him. “I'm going to pretend like she wasn't your zanpakuto.”

Aizen shrugged elegantly, brush moving across the paper fluidly in a way Ichigo could never manage to master.

“She's no longer with me, so it might as well be true,” he forced out, trying too hard not to show any emotion. 

Ichigo’s breath caught in his chest, the thought of not having Zangetsu around driving through him like a spike. Even Shiro, little shit that he was, was a part of his soul. The idea of them being gone was just… unimaginable. They were already all that was keeping him together at this point. Without them, he'd have broken a long time ago.

“Sousuke,” he sighed, the name flowing more freely that time. “I'm sorry.”

“As am I.”

For some reason, with every clipped response he got, every movement of the brush on the paper, Ichigo’s lungs felt a little bit tighter, his heart aching a little bit more. Well, fuck it.

He leaned over, resting his head on Aizen’s shoulder, ignoring the sudden tension that filled his frame.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You think we could be friends? The only people I see anymore only talk about the war, and I don't want to think about it anymore. You don't even remember it, so maybe you can tell me about your life before it and I can tell you about mine.”

Aizen was silent for a long few seconds, long enough that Ichigo was about to get up and ignore that the conversation ever happened.

“Why would you want to be friends with me?” Aizen asked him, voice tight with emotion.

Ichigo shrugged listlessly, letting his head nestle more comfortably on the man’s shoulder.

“I don't want to be the kid hero anymore,” he said simply. “Or the victim, or the savior, or anything at all. I just want to survive right now, and maybe really live one day. I want to sleep and eat and talk to someone about work or the neighbor’s dog or something mundane. I just want to be right now.” He rolled his head back to glance up at Ai- at Sousuke’s shocked face. “So I thought we could be friends instead of being awkward.”

Sousuke stayed silent, eyes falling back to the paper in front of him as he digested everything.

“I see,” he managed after a few long seconds.

Ichigo didn't wait for him to continue, or to ask more questions, instead tilting his head so he could read the paper Sousuke focused so intently on.

“You write poetry?” Ichigo asked, eyes scanning the page. 

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised - it did seem like a very Aizen thing to do. But this wasn't Aizen anymore, right? He was Sousuke now.

“I remember writing poetry often, before… well, before I can't remember anything, I suppose,” Sousuke answered, a sad smile hinting at his lips. “Hinamori-kun used to read them and hang her favorites in her quarters. I don't suppose she’d want to read them now.”

Ichigo winced at the pain in his tone, remembering the few times he'd seen Hinamori after the betrayal.

“She's still in a coma for the most part, but maybe she will when she finally wakes up,” Ichigo offered lamely.

How did you comfort a man who basically stabbed his own daughter? Twice.

“I don't know if I'd be able to see her,” Sousuke said after a few moments. “I feel such immense guilt over something I don't have any recollection of. Seeing the aftermath of my actions in person might be too much for me. I can't imagine what it's like for her.”

Ichigo nodded, that familiar aching loneliness that accompanied thoughts of the past settling in his chest. They settled into comfortable silence for a while, Ichigo watching the leaves fall through the window as Sousuke sat and stared blankly at the page.

“I apologize,” the man said suddenly. “I've brought up a distasteful subject.”

“It's ok,” Ichigo murmured, shaking his head. “It was because you remembered something happy at first, so we got to have a little bit of joy.”

Aizen didn't answer him, just placed his brush down and rested his hands in his lap, eyes joining Ichigo’s as they watched the trees rustle in the breeze.

“Why did you join the Gotei?” Ichigo asked softly, eyes fluttering closed.

Sousuke was surprisingly comfortable to lean against, his natural scent soothing in a way Ichigo couldn't quite describe.

“I wanted to be with Kisuke,” Sousuke laughed quietly. “He was so brilliant, so of course he was invited, and by a Shihoin no less. I was smart enough myself, and desperately in love with him, so I found a way to follow. It never got me anywhere with him, always just a step behind, his attention always somewhere else, but it was enough to be near him.”

“I don't know how anyone could fall in love with that psycho,” Ichigo said blandly. 

Sousuke huffed out a laugh, a small smile pulling at his mouth as he shook his head.

“I don't either, Ichigo, but I somehow managed it,” he answered. “I supposed love truly is blind.”

Ichigo was silent for a few moments, wondering why his chest felt strangely tight at the fond note in Sousuke’s voice.

“Do you still love him?” he asked.

Sousuke glanced down at the boy resting on his shoulder, bags under his closed eyes, skin drawn too tight over his handsome features.

“No,” he sighed. “I don't know him anymore, and I'm sure he knows someone who isn't really me.”

“Yeah.”

Ichigo would probably have asked more, asked about what Kisuke was like when he was younger, if he was just as annoying as he was now, but sleep was pulling at his eyelids, and Sousuke really was comfortable, so he just let himself drift in the warm, comforting scent of bitter coffee and ink.

He didn't notice when Sousuke shifted half an hour later, settling the sleeping boy’s head in his lap and letting Ichigo get some much needed rest as he continued with his poetry.


	4. To The Future

Ichigo woke with a start, body jolting as his eyes snapped open. At first, he was too groggy to fully understand what he was looking at, confusion furrowing his brows. 

As he blinked slowly, he realized he was looking at a shirt. 

A shirt where it met a pair of dark wash jeans, settled on thin hips. 

Because his head was resting on a warm, entirely too comfortable thigh, and he'd curled himself around the body he was napping on.

Because he'd  _ snuggled up  _ to Sousuke while he was asleep.

If he could have convinced himself for a second that Sousuke didn't already know he was awake, he'd had pretended to roll over in his sleep, so that at the very least, he wasn't face first in the man’s crotch.

“Did I wake you?” Sousuke asked softly, a gentle hand carding through Ichigo’s hair.

Yeah. 

There went that plan.

“Uh, no,” Ichigo managed, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

He slowly pushed himself up, his body protesting the movement and the loss of heat. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to meet Sousuke’s eyes, so he just glared at his hand where it rested on his knee.

“You've nothing to apologize for; I moved you from my shoulder so I could continue writing,” Sousuke said with a calm smile. “I wanted to let you get some rest.”

Ichigo’s eyes flickered up at that, seeing the sad glance Sousuke gave to the bags beneath his eyes, but ignoring it as he always did.

“Yeah,” he offered lamely. “Thanks. I, uh, yeah. How long was I out?”

Sousuke turned to look at the clock on his wall, pursing his lips as he thought. 

“A little under four hours,” he answered, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. “It's almost time for dinner, if you're hungry.”

Four hours, huh? That was longer than he'd slept in one go in… god, in longer than he could remember. Maybe he'd start cuddling with Sousuke regularly if it meant he could get some rest. 

Ok, maybe not. That was a bit weird.

“I could eat,” he shrugged, surprised to actually mean the words for once. 

He very rarely actually felt hungry these days, but maybe sleeping better gave his body some weird sense of hope that he'd be taking better care of himself. Good luck with that one.

“Would you like to get ramen? The stall down the street is offering take-out now,” Sousuke hedged.

Ichigo didn't really leave the house for anything other than work or bare necessities, so Sousuke was constantly trying to get him outside, even if it was just for a few minutes. He guessed he could humor the man, just this once.

“Yeah,” he drew out hesitantly, almost like he didn't actually want to agree. “Yeah. Ramen sounds good.”

And hell, if all it took to make Sousuke that happy was agreeing to go get ramen once in a while, Ichigo figured he could suck it up. Honest smiles looked good on Sousuke.

That was probably weirder than him sleeping on the man.

Whatever. He could blame it on exhaustion. Or insanity.

At this point, no one would question either.


	5. Ending Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is like straight all Ichi talking lmao it's nothing but him monologuing I'm sorry

“I know what it feels like.”

Sousuke jumped at the voice calling out to him, head snapping up from where he'd been bent over the sink, cheeks red and tear stained. His eyes were wide when they caught on Ichigo, standing in the doorframe like a deer in the headlights, not sure what he was supposed to do and too scared to move. But it was Ichigo, so of course he still reached out.

“What?” Sousuke asked shakily, fingers trembling as he tried to force his body to move, to wipe the tears from his eyes and hide his weakness behind a wall, behind a smile or a question about Ichigo’s work. Anything to not have to talk about the fact that he was breaking. 

“Not having your zanpakuto,” Ichigo elaborated, voice quiet, but heavy with pain. “I don't - I mean, I just wanted - you can talk to me,” he finally settled on. “I know what it’s like. I won't judge you or use it against you.”

Sousuke heaved in a shaky, shuddering breath, eyes filling with tears again as he let himself sink down to the floor helplessly, too exhausted to keep himself up anymore. Everything was crashing down, and he couldn't think fast enough to keep up with it, couldn't calm himself down this time like he always did when the aching pit in his stomach grew too large to be ignored.

“Why?” he croaked, staring up at Ichigo pitifully, watching as the man sighed and closed the bathroom door behind him, leaning against it and letting himself slide to the floor as well. “Why do you comfort me, Ichigo? I slaughtered many of your friends, your family, I took your mother from you. I am the reason you are so broken today, the reason any of this happened at all. What makes me deserving of help?”

Ichigo took in a deep breath, hesitated, then let it all out in one huge sigh, dropping his head back against the door with a humorless laugh.

“Fuck,” he huffed, “I don't know. Because you're probably the only other person who knows how scary it is, how much it hurts? Because you weren't really the one who did all of that?” His eyes met Sousuke’s again, the harsh cynicism softening into something akin to pity. “Because you look as shitty as I feel?”

Sousuke didn't know what to say to that, just sitting on the cold tile and letting his tears flow freely as he stared at Ichigo. The man really did shine like a sun, like a savior should, even as dimmed and cracked as he was. Sousuke was almost glad he couldn't remember what Ichigo had looked like before the war had broken him, because he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself if he had something to compare this broken shell to. If he'd known what Ichigo looked like smiling and full of holy fury, he probably would have dropped himself off a cliff by now, just to hide from the shame of it all. 

As it was, all he could do was sit on the bathroom floor, body shaking, mind racing and heart breaking into a million different shards.

“I'm sorry.”

It was all he could offer.

Ichigo just sighed again.

“Do you know how I defeated you?” Ichigo asked, as if Sousuke hadn't said anything at all. He didn't wait for a response, just continuing, “I used Mugetsu. It's supposed to be a last resort, something to fall back on if everything else fails; Goat-Face said it's an old Shiba technique.” 

Ichigo’s eyes were locked on the ceiling, tracing the minuscule cracks in the plaster and around the edge of the light as he spoke. He looked otherworldly like that, early evening light filtering in through the window and catching strands of his hair, casting shadows across his cheek and onto his collarbone where his shirt hung loose on his too skinny frame.

“It's a last resort because it uses every last drop of power you have left,” he kept on. “It dries up your reiatsu for good, nothing left, brings you back to a human state if your body is still alive, and if not, you just… disappear, I guess.” He shrugged nonchalantly, rolling his head back and forth gently over the solid wood of the door. “As soon as Urahara-san had you locked up, everything just dropped. It felt like I'd been gutted, like my spine had been yanked out of my body, and I just remember thinking that if that’s what my life was going to feel like, then I hoped the fall killed me.”

He laughed drily, catching Sousuke’s eyes again and offering a pathetic attempt at a smile. Sousuke felt his breath catch in his chest, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the smile or the idea of Ichigo not being… well, with him, he guessed. If Ichigo wasn't around, Sousuke couldn't even begin to fathom what his existence would be like now. Would Kisuke have taken him in? Would he have been given to the horrifying excuse for a scientist that had taken over Kisuke’s division? Would he have survived either option?

“Of course, it didn't,” Ichigo’s voice tore him from his thoughts. “I wasn't that high up anyway, and Inoue was healing me before I even hit the ground, probably. But when I woke up, I remember the cold, first.” He looked over Sousuke’s shivering frame, a chill working its way down his spine in sympathy. “It felt like my skin was raw, like I'd been out in a snowstorm for days and was suddenly back in the warmth. And then it was the numbness. I couldn't feel  _ anything.  _ No reiatsu, no energy, no emotions. I couldn't feel Zan keeping me steady, or Shiro trying to cause trouble. It made me want to vomit.”

Honestly, just the memory of it was enough to turn his stomach even still, his mind instinctively reaching out to feel the thrumming energy of his zanpakuto, twined into his very soul.

“Everything felt like I was being torn apart, like someone had just taken a claw and ripped out some of my intestines and just left the wound open,” he choked out, eyes still pointed at Sousuke, but no longer actually seeing him. “I wanted it all to stop, so badly. I started drinking, first, then drugs. Quit both pretty quick because they only made it worse.” He swallowed harshly, brows furrowing into a grimace. “I stopped talking to everybody, would just sit and try to meditate for hours, punch walls, go and get into fights. I’d wander around town late at night where I knew Hollows used to hang out. I was so desperate to feel  _ something  _ that I just did whatever came to mind.”

Sousuke found some strength back in his legs, pushing himself up ever so slightly and shifting closer to Ichigo, inexplicably drawn to him. He needed something, whether it was contact or just to listen to more of what Ichigo was saying, and he wanted to be closer. Wanted to feel Ichigo lean into him again, like he had that first day that they’d decided to try a shaky attempt at friendship.

He wanted to not feel so alone.

“I tried to contact Grimmjow, actually,” Ichigo snorted, the smile coming a little more naturally this time. “I know you don't remember him, but he was one of your soldiers. Asshole of a house cat, really, but he was a good fight. Never went easy on me, always wanted me to go full out on him. I thought if I could get in touch with him, if anyone could pull my powers back out, it'd be him. He'd fight me, and something would kick in, and I'd be a shinigami again. Either that or he'd kill me.” His eyes cleared a bit, falling to watch the leaves flutter on the tree branch outside the window. “It didn't work, obviously. He doesn't exactly have a cell phone, and I didn't have any reiatsu to see him even if I did manage to find him.”

Ichigo met Sousuke’s eyes again, jolting a bit when he noticed the man was now barely a foot from him, curled up small and helpless, hand a few inches away from where Ichigo's thigh was splayed out on the floor. He pushed his leg closer until he felt long fingers bump against the fabric of his jeans, his eyes falling to watch Sousuke mindlessly pull at a thread from a frayed hole above the knee.

“I missed it. All of it. I missed my inner world, and Zan’s cryptic bullshit, and Shiro wanting to fight all the time.” He shuddered slightly when he felt Sousuke’s finger brush against bare skin, cold and dry against his skin, but even so, he craved more. He just wanted human contact at this point, wanted to feel skin against his own, hear someone else’s heartbeat. He pushed his knee into the touch. “I even missed feeling like I was gonna lose control, feeling the crazed Hollow need underneath my skin when I got worked up. I missed everything, and everything hurt, and then I tried to kill myself finally. And that’s when it all came back.”

Sousuke’s finger stilled, his eyes blinking slowly in confusion, now sore and tired rather than teary, at least.

“How did you get them back?” he asked, voice broken and weak and  _ desperate. _

He needed something, something to hope for, something to help soothe him somewhere, somehow. Anything that wasn't the clawing emptiness in his gut.

“The Hogyouku. Fucking marble,” Ichigo chuckled. “I really don't get it, so you'll have to ask Urahara-san how it works, but I guess it's supposed to fulfill the desires of its master or something. He made the original one, and you apparently stole it, or stole the recipe or whatever for it, and were trying to make your own.” He nudged Sousuke’s hand with his knee again, sighing softly when those fingers went back to stroking gently over the small patch of exposed skin. “He hid his original one in my friend, and then she gave me her powers to save me and a whole bunch of other shit happened. But you found out about it being inside her and stole it, and that's when you betrayed everyone. Sorry.”

He winced at the way Sousuke had flinched, reaching out tentatively with his own hand and brushing his fingers against Sousuke’s questioningly. A breath he didn't know he was holding rushed out of his lungs when long fingers twitched and tangled together with his own. It felt weird, holding hands with Aizen Sousuke, but he brushed off the thought, focusing on the little thrum of a pulse he could feel at Sousuke’s ring finger, pressed into his own.

“Sorry,” he repeated, voice soft and gentle, running his thumb across Sousuke’s knuckles. “But anyway, you were its master while you had it, kind of. It rebelled a bit because it was Urahara's technically, but you had control over it. When I beat you, it acknowledged me as its master.” Ichigo shrugged, shifting sideways a bit and leaning closer to Sousuke. “I guess when I tried to kill myself, it activated on its own and put me back together. My deepest wish was to have them back again, to have my power back, and it saved my life and gave me back my zanpakuto and my Hollow.” 

He sighed, closing the last few inches between himself and Sousuke, leaning heavily against the man’s shoulder and tangling their legs together, breathing in the soothing scent of chamomile tea and lavender.

“And I'm still fucked up,” he laughed quietly, turning his head to rest in the crook of Sousuke’s neck.

Sousuke swallowed hard, hesitantly tilting his head to rest atop Ichigo’s, shifting infinitesimally closer to him.

“I have caused you so much pain,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Ichigo just shook his head.

“It's ok, Sousuke,” he murmured, eyes slipping shut in contentment. “I'm ok. You'll be ok.” He sighed, squeezing the hand in his own. “I can't get Kyouka Suigetsu back for you. She's gone, and the Hogyouku doesn't exist anymore. But, if you want, if it would help,” he said slowly, holding his breath as anxiety coursed through his veins, “you can have me.”

He swallowed harshly, leaning forward and placing a dry kiss at the base of Sousuke’s throat, heart pounding in his ears as he heard Sousuke suck in a gasp.

It seemed to stretch on forever, Sousuke’s heart hammering against his ribs, Ichigo feeling it beat against the shoulder that was leaning against his chest, a blush forming over his cheeks to rival his hair. 

“Or you don't have to,” he added after what felt like an eternity, the words coming out all in one breath.

Sousuke stiffened then, hand clamping down on Ichigo’s, heart rate picking up even more, and Ichigo felt a soft, tentative kiss pressed against his forehead, his eyes fluttering closed as he focused on the sensation. 

“I do not deserve this,” Sousuke murmured, pulling Ichigo’s hand into his lap, “but I would like that very much.”

“Who cares what we deserve?” Ichigo grumbled, turning his body into Sousuke’s and burying his face in the man’s throat. “Let's take what we want for once.”

And maybe it wasn't perfect, and maybe it wasn't all that comfortable either, but the two of them fell asleep like that, leaning against the side of the bathtub, clutching at each other, and everything felt just a little bit better. 

Just for a little while, maybe it was all ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been writing this on and off for a hot minute here, taken me a while because it's hard for me to write depressed characters without slipping back into my bullshit BUT I'm pretty alright with how this worked out. It's mostly just me messing with different ways of writing, so if it's not exactly right canon plotwise, suck it up lmao. Also, it very well may feel kinda forced or w/e between them, but I like the awkward and uncomfortable nature of them both being broken and trying to find something to feel ok even if it doesn't actually make sense or work very well.

**Author's Note:**

> Basic timeline:   
> Zanpakuto arc happens with Muramasa 'freeing' all zanpakuto several centuries prior to Ichigo being born  
> Kyouka Suigetsu is freed and hypnotizes Aizen to believe she was freed and then subdued and controls him to do her bidding and try to take over the three Worlds  
> Aizen's treachery occurs as in canon and in the same timeline, the Zanpakuto rebellion simply happening just before he begins his acts   
> When Kyouka Suigetsu shatters, it breaks her hypnosis over him  
> He is found not guilty, but too dangerous to let roam free, so he is placed under Ichigo's 'protective custody' since he was the only one strong enough to stop Aizen at his strongest  
> He lives awkwardly ever after in Ichigo's care


End file.
